Heart and Home
by Rickmanlover24601
Summary: One-shot. Several years after the war, Hermione has settled into a familiar life with Ron. But there's something familiar about the man in the bookstore, too...


**Heart and Home**

Hermione was generally a happy person, inclined to think the best of everyone until they proved otherwise. And so after a suitable mourning period following the Final Battle, Hermione said yes and became the wife of one of her best friends. They were happy together because Hermione made it so. If her smile was a little strained neither really noticed.

As the days and weeks moved on, Hermione spent more time staring out the window or into her plate of dinner thinking of things other than the duties at home. Her inattention soon started to annoy her husband who could no longer attribute it to just a passing mood.

The final straw came when she seemed to be somewhere else entirely when they were quite in the middle of that most intimate of marital relationships.

Ron rolled off Hermione and sulked. Hermione turned over and tried to sleep, seemingly unaffected by anything that had come to pass in the last half an hour.

****

Occasionally, the Weasley couple would go for a walk together. Neither really thought of walking as a hobby, but between their busy lives, it was a good way to enjoy the fresh air and spend some time talking.

Hermione was quiet on this walk, much like she had been for a few months now. Ron tried to no avail to garner her attention about something related to Quidditch then decided to give up and try to unearth what was going on with his wife.

"Wha-? Oh, sorry Ron. I just remembered John Harvey's new book should be out." Hermione glanced wistfully at the bookstore window across the street.

Ron turned to face her. "Hermione, we really need to talk. I just don't get what's going on with you."

"What's going on?" Hermione frowned and pulled her attention from the store to the freckled visage of her husband and friend.

Ron sighed, exasperated. "Exactly! What's going on with YOU? You're never…here. You're always thinking about something else. I could burn the house down in front of you and you wouldn't notice!"

Hermione frowned, as her eyes slid from Ron's face to a couple entering the bookstore. She just wanted to see if the book was there…why couldn't Ron understand that?

"Hermione?!" Ron briefly shook her shoulders.

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, ok. What?"

"Come on, let's go home."

***

A few weeks later, they were out on their walk once more and Hermione was determined to pay attention to her husband. It wasn't fair on him if she kept letting her mind wander. And, to be honest, her thoughts weren't doing her any good. She realized the longer she spent in her own mind, the more melancholy she became. It wouldn't do. She would be a good wife. She had to be.

Hermione was regaling Ron with the story of how John Harvey came to meet with the Androglozop and how that amazing encounter had sparked his interest in the new research of-

Hermione stopped talking mid-sentence, something that was entirely rare for her. She also stopped walking and focused her attention on a side alley. Someone had just slipped down it. Her mind tried to tell her something was important about that but she couldn't grasp anything beyond the fact that someone had business down Knockturn Alley. It wasn't unheard of even in these significantly less dark times.

Since Ron wasn't paying attention to her one-sided conversation anyway, the only reason he noticed something was amiss was that it was suddenly quiet and his wife wasn't walking beside him.

When he called her name, Hermione ran to catch up and tried to take back the conversation but her enthusiasm was lost. Something was niggling at her mind, something she just couldn't grasp. Ron decided she had tired of talking and thought he would take his turn and discuss Kingsley's latest requirement for trainee Aurors. Hermione didn't listen.

***

After a few weeks of walking past the bookstore but unable to go in due to her husband's distaste of 'musty old mildew infested bookstores', Hermione decided to take an early afternoon at work and make her way to her favorite store. As she jostled past a rather unruly family, she followed a slip of black fabric into the store. She stood for a moment to adjust to the dimmer light and then made her way to the side shelf where she knew John Harvey's book would be featured.

As she neared the shelf, something caused her to stop once again. She was arrested by a strange scent in the air. Something spicy. Something warm. Something tantalizingly familiar. Her heart skipped a beat. If her mind couldn't quite grasp what she was smelling, her heart certainly was affected by it, seemed to know it. Without rhyme or reason, Hermione just knew it was _right. _She closed her eyes and took a deep sniff as the smell became stronger and enveloped her. She felt her chest tighten with some unnamed emotion. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at the only copy remaining of the best seller.

Quickly pushing aside the odor in favor of a new, long sought after book, she reached out to grab the shiny hardcover. Her hand was instantly covered by another.

With a slight start, Hermione looked up at the owner of the hand and nearly fainted.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. She could only stare back at those obsidian black eyes.

In deep, rich, long yearned for tones, his velvet voice washed over her. "Hello, Hermione."

***

"I…I thought…"

"Yes, well that was the plan." His voice sounded pained, worn, and tired.

Hermione didn't want to know why or how or when or what. She just wanted to feel him in her arms once again, to feel his warm breath upon her neck, his strong arms around her, his large hands roaming, roving, seeking her out.

Hermione swallowed, afraid tears would spill out.

She dashed out of the store without a backwards glance.

Around the corner, she gathered her breath and her wits. Surely she was hallucinating. He had been dead for two years. Even if… no. But…

Before she could begin to logically sift through the information assailing her senses, she found him standing in front of her, his arm outstretched.

"You were there first."

Hermione managed to tear her eyes from his to see the book he held out to her. Slowly, as if she were watching someone else, she took the book and placed it reverently in her messenger bag.

Unable to say anything, she lifted her left hand. Her voice struggled to hold its composure while expressing how very truly sorry she was, how horrible everything had gone, how she hadn't managed to wait longer for him, to hold out hope for his return. "I… I'm married."

He nodded once and his eyes flickered shut for a moment. "I know. Enjoy the book."

And he walked away once again.

***

Hermione daren't speak a word of what had come to pass. She was still in a state of shock, although Ron noticed nothing more than her usual despondent attitude. As she tried to sleep, images and emotions competing for attention in her tired mind, he slipped a badly wrapped gift beside her pillow. It was her birthday in the morning after all.

He left her to sleep in what he hoped was peace.

***

When Hermione woke that morning, a headache and tangled sheets testimony to her decidedly disturbed sleep, she pulled her bag to her side and pulled out the book. Acknowledging that it was not all a cruel nightmare, she held the book close to her chest and noticed the package beside her pillow. Ron had clearly not slept there last night.

She unwrapped the gift, and allowed herself a small smile when she slid out another copy of the much anticipated book. She opened it to the title page and noticed Ron's scrawled handwriting on the blank page opposite.

_Hermione,_

_I always knew you were too good for me. You know I was the happiest man when you accepted me but I now know I can't make you happy. I thought we could be friends forever but I guess that's not enough for us._

_I really hope you have a wonderful birthday. I know you'll find some way to celebrate it just the way you'd like. I was never any good at that kind of thing._

_If you need anything, I'll be at The Burrow but I've already taken most of my things._

_I hope this book will remind you of the fun times we had together._

_With love,_

_Ron._

Hermione watched a tear escape and stain the 'n' of his signature.

With something she recognized as hope, Hermione pulled her other copy of the book towards her. She imagined she could smell his scent upon the pages then realized she was being a sentimental swot and she'd be better off getting some tea, clearing her head, and deciding on what she was supposed to do next.

***

Severus Snape, posthumous recipient of an Order of Merlin, Second Class, stood looking out upon the brown grass of his backyard. It had been so long since he had been home. He'd known it was safe to return a few months ago, but he could not face his old life. He had no idea what to do first, where to go, what was left for him.

It was a ridiculous notion to have done what he did, but the sentimental part of his heart that had long been stored away and only just recently brought out for a brief romp in the sun, told him he had to do it. Just in case.

It was a month later, when he stood looking out his window, wondering if he was just spending some time taking a break from being on the run, recuperating from his travels, or if he was acting like some love-sick teenager, waiting for his true love to save him.

He truly hoped it was not the latter but when that quiet, tentative knock sounded on his door, he knew he had come undone.

She stood wrapped warmly in a gray and blue checkered coat, her Gryffindor red scarf curled around her neck so many times, her mouth, her sweet sensuous mouth almost hidden from view.

When he pulled her into his arms, she fit against his body as she always had. Her arms wrapped around him. A small white card with a spidery scrawl announcing his street address slipped from her fingers.

He realized he had been waiting, waiting many more years than even he realized, but never could he imagine his reward could be so sweet.


End file.
